Pas de deux
by harperpitt
Summary: Two young ballet students, and two worlds. Will Edward, the new boy from Chicago, awaken Bella's heart? Five chapters of sweetness and innocence about the wonder of first love. AH/AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Welcome to my little story. It takes place in the world of ballet - once I had the idea of Edward in tights, all virile and graceful, I couldn't get him out of my head.**

**I needed to translate Bella's name for this one: **_**cigno **___**is the Italian word for swan. There's more Italian, and the translations are in the A/N below.**

**Thank you from the bottom of my heart to my wonderful beta, ****dellaterra****, who put so much time and patience into this, and made it incredibly better – you are the very best! Hugs and kisses!**

**Any remaining errors and mistakes are mine.**

**I do not own Twilight.**

**This story will be told in five chapters, which I will post every second day.**

**Here we go.**

**oOoOoOo**

**PAS DE DEUX**

**Chapter 1**

Sitting down on the floor of my bedroom, I open the small box I keep on top of my bookshelf. In it are all the utensils I need in order to prepare the shoes. Using a small knife, I cut the satin off the tops, and then I scrape them until they are blunt and rough. A broad elastic band is sewn into the front of the shoes to offer me better support. I break the shanks on the inner part of each sole and take them out so the shoes become more flexible. I work them with a hammer. I try out the length of the ribbons, tying them around my ankles and fastening them on the insides. I cut off the superfluous bits and burn the edges so they won't fray out.

After about thirty minutes, I try them on by standing _en pointe,_ rolling to and fro. The soles are still a bit too hard but they'll be okay.

The rain is pattering heavily against the windows and I sigh as I get to work on the second pair of shoes. Apparently autumn is arriving early this year.

Tomorrow will be the first day of my last year at school, the beginning of a new term, and I'm excited and can't wait to get back. I managed to do quite a bit of training over the summer, except for the two weeks when we went on holiday, visiting the family in Italy. It was awfully difficult to find a place to train, and I finally ended up in Aunt Susanna's garage.

"Bella!" Mum calls from downstairs. "Dinner's ready!"

It's Sunday, which means we're having a family dinner together while Daddy trusts his maitre d', Eraldo, with the restaurant. He spends most evenings there, but on Sundays we have dinner together. If he's needed, he'll go over, since our flat is next door to _Il Cigno_.

When I come down, everyone is already assembled around the table.

"Bella, _mia ragazza dolce_," Nonna Maria smiles, patting the chair next to her for me to sit down.

I kiss her cheek, breathing in the familiar scent of her wonderful lilac perfume. After Daddy's said a short prayer, everyone helps themselves to the delicious-smelling food that Mum and Nonna prepared. I take a small serving of their homemade mushroom ravioli and a big helping of salad.

"Excited yet?" Daddy asks, eyeing me across the table. He knows me too well. It's probably written all over me. Maybe it's because we're so much alike. I look into his huge dark eyes, so similar to my own.

"Yes," I shrug. "Of course. I mean, it's the last year. A lot depends on it."

"You'll do well, _cara mia_," he says. "You're brilliant."

"Thank you, Daddy."

My brother Giacomo scrunches up his nose while he continues to stuff his face. That boy can eat like a horse. And no wonder, he's only twelve; he's still growing.

"Bella's just dancing around in a tutu all day long," he complains and grins, his black eyes twinkling impishly.

"That's not at all true," Mum reprimands him. "And you know it too! Your sister works very hard and she's going to have a great career! If she wasn't, she certainly wouldn't have received that scholarship in the first place!"

"Oh, Mum," I smile. "You know he doesn't mean it." I tickle Giaco's ribs and he giggles.

"Stop, stop!" he snorts after a few moments, and I do before something happens to that mouthful of ravioli he's chewing. Dinner continues peacefully, with Giaco telling us about his soccer training, and Mum and Daddy talking about the restaurant a little. They are planning a big anniversary party for November, when they will celebrate the fact that they've owned their own restaurant for fifteen years. One of my earliest memories is running around the restaurant when everything still smelt of paint. I was three at the time.

When my grandparents came to London in the Sixties, they certainly never imagined that their son would one day own a very thriving restaurant in Marylebone, a district located north of Hyde Park, only three tube stations from the throbbing heart of the city.

Giacomo manages to eat three helpings of tiramisu and I drink a glass of skimmed milk before I make my excuses and get back to my room to finish preparing my shoes.

When they're ready, I call Angela, but she doesn't answer, so I guess she's still sick and won't be coming to school tomorrow. That's actually a huge pity, because she's not only my best friend but also the only real friend I have in school.

I do my exercises and take a shower. I brush my teeth and try to calm down, because I really am nervous about tomorrow. I missed school. The coming year is so important. If all goes well, by the time it ends, I will be a professional dancer. There's no alternative. All my life, that's what I wanted.

Sleep doesn't come lightly, and when I finally doze off, I fall into uneasy dreams.

**=oOo=**

When I make my way from the tube to our school in Covent Garden the next morning, it's still raining. Some of the girls are already in the locker room when I arrive. It's nice to see Jessica and Lauren after the long summer break. We chat a little as we put on our tights and leotards. We're all laughing at some silly joke when the door opens and Rosalie Hale and Victoria Huntington stride in. Within our class of twenty-three students, they are the stars. Both love the attention they receive because of their beauty, and both are incredibly ambitious. They greet the rest of us with a simple hello and keep talking.

"Emmett saw him," Rosalie giggles, putting her long blonde curls into a neat little bun. "He says this chap is gorgeous! Edgar Something-or-other. I can't wait to see him! Of course, Em thinks he's gay, but perhaps that's just wishful thinking!"

"A new guy?" Jessica asks. "In our class? That doesn't make sense, does it? We've only one more year left…"

"Well, he's here and I'm definitely going to check him out," Rosalie says as she applies some lip gloss.

I finish putting on my legwarmers and walk into the studio to warm up. By and by, the room fills with people who start stretching, doing _pliés_ and _battements tendus._ I'm concentrating on my posture and on the way my arms move, wishing I were as self-assured as Rosalie, who is whispering with Emmett at the other end of the room while they do their exercises.

I turn so I'm looking into the mirror that covers the entire wall. I start a few _grands battements_, throwing my legs out behind me, when I see the door open from the corner of my eye.

There's an almost palpable, universal gasp as a young man walks in. Our class has been studying together for the past two years now, and we're a rather close-knit group, so an outsider is a real novelty.

He's tall and beautiful, dressed in the customary outfit of black tights and a white t-shirt. The first thing I notice is the uncommon colour of his hair, and the disarray it's in. It sticks out in all directions, and the colour is like… bronze. His face is lovely, with high cheekbones and a sharp jaw line. He looks… I don't know… as if he'd stepped out of an Oscar Wilde play. Something about him is oddly old-fashioned.

He doesn't seem to notice the invisible stir he's causing, quietly taking a spot at the _barre _and starting his warmup.

When the door opens again, it's Miss Denali. She looks as pretty as always, her strawberry blonde hair with streaks of grey framing her porcelain-like face, her clothes elegant, and her sharp blue eyes sparkling. She quietly makes her rounds, commenting here and there on someone's posture, touching a shoulder or asking for a leg to be put higher.

I can't help but surreptitiously look at the beautiful new boy in the mirror. He has a marvellous body, strong and long-limbed and graceful. He seems to be completely in his own world.

"Nice, Bella." Miss Denali touches my arm as I stretch it over my head in the fifth position.

A few minutes later, she claps her hands.

"Okay, people," she calls in a light voice, her Russian accent peeking through. "I want to go through a series of moves with you so I can see how lazy you were during the summer!"

Everyone chuckles.

"I suppose you have already noticed that a new student has joined us for this last year." She gestures to the new boy. "This is Edward Masen from Chicago. Good to have you here." He smiles a bit shyly. "Please give him a warm welcome!"

Everyone looks at him and he runs a hand through his already messy hair.

"Okay, now!"

We all find a place in the room and face the mirror. Miss Denali gives some sheet music to the _repetiteur _at the pianoand guides us through a succession of moves. Time and again, my eyes sneak to the new boy. His moves are lithe and powerful, and his physique is perfect. I can see every muscle ripple under his tight-fitting clothes. Everything he does look effortless, but I know the incredible amount of hard work behind it.

Miss Denali calls for a break, and we all dab our faces with a towel and have a drink of water. The new chap is by himself, but I can see that Rosalie is already on the prowl as she makes her way over to him. I can't hear what she's saying because I'm on the other side of the studio, but he smiles back at her, and it's a slightly crooked, very lovely smile.

"Everyone!" Miss Denali calls, clapping twice for our attention. All conversation ceases. "I want you all to sit down. Mr. Whitlock will be here any minute and he has some very exciting news for you!"

I sit on the smooth linoleum with the others, and the chatter stops the second our director, Jasper Whitlock, enters the room. He is a very charismatic man in his early forties. He started out as a dancer and now is a world-famous choreographer. Rumour has it that he is being considered for a knighthood.

It's a special occurrence for him to come into class, but he always does at the beginning of a new year. Everyone adjusts their position so they look the best they can.

He's dressed in black pants and a black button-down shirt, his friendly grey eyes behind rimless glasses.

"Well, well, well." He eyes each one of us. "Good to see all of you back. I hope you had a nice summer, and I hope you weren't slack about your training! This, as you know, is the last year of your studies at the Royal Academy of Ballet, and I want to see each and every one of you under contract by this time next year!" He smiles. He's been director of the school for five years and everyone adores him. He's married to the prima ballerina of the Royal Ballet, Mary Alice Brandon. He often works with her, and she sometimes comes in to do a lecture.

"You will have noticed your new fellow student, Mr. Masen from the Chicago School of Ballet. Mr. Masen was accepted here due to his outstanding talent, and I hope he will be an enrichment to this class."

Once again, everyone looks at the new chap.

Once again, he runs a hand through his hair.

"Okay," Mr. Whitlock continues. "This is your final year and we all demand excellence from you. You will perform on the big stage next summer, when choreographers and agents and directors from all the important ballet companies will be watching. The pressure's only going to increase. As many of you know, there will be a gala performance in December, with Her Majesty, the Queen, in attendance. I suppose that most of you also know that I am currently rehearsing my new ballet, _Blood,_ which is actually based on the famous novel, _Dracula._

"So here's what you will be doing for the next two weeks. You will be assigned to work in pairs, creating your own choreography on one of the themes I am going to give you in a moment. You will do it in pairs, and without any help. By the end of next week, I will come in again and decide which pair will perform the _grand pas de deux_ from my new ballet at the gala performance."

Gasps and whispers fill the air as the news sinks in.

"Each one of you will now do a short improvisation on the theme of vampires. I want it really short, no longer than three minutes. I know you all feel pressured right now, but there's no need to. Just do your thing, and I'll see what I need to see. Just get into the feeling of the genre, and let your instincts, and the music, guide you. Miss Denali will call each of you now."

He sits down next to Miss Denali, who unfortunately seems to be going by our first names. Angela is sick, and there isn't anyone else starting with an A.

"Bella Cigno!"

I go to the middle of the room and assume the fifth position.

"Take your time," Mr. Whitlock says, and I take a moment to concentrate. I'm bloody nervous, but I know that improvisation is my strong point. I nod to the _repetiteur_, who starts playing. I begin to dance.

My limbs move of their own volition while I follow the music, thinking about blood and danger and desire. I forget about the other people in the room, because _this_ – dancing_ - _is the best thing in the world, and the only thing I care about.

I finish as the music slowly fades, ending in the same position I started with. My fellow students applaud, and it takes me a moment to come down while Bree walks to the centre of the room.

Sitting down, I repeat the performance in my head. It was okay, I think.

I suppose Rosalie Hale will snatch the part again anyway.

"Okay," Miss Denali says when the friendly applause for Bree ends. "Edward Masen."

I'm startled out of my musings when the chap in question gets up and takes his position in front of us. He closes his eyes for a second.

The moment he starts to dance, I'm mesmerized. He moves with such elegance and virility that I need to swallow. His technique is excellent, and his body is incredible, muscular and lean and perfect. But the thing that floors me is the way he dances, moving with such grace and sensitivity that it's hard to believe he is still a student. He's flawless.

The room is totally silent when Edward finishes, and it takes a moment before everyone applauds enthusiastically.

I watch the rest of the students perform, but nothing really registers with me. I look at Edward, and I try to silence the turmoil inside me.

**oOoOoOo**

**A/N: Thank you for reading. I'd love to hear your opinions on Balletward and Bellarina, so please leave a review and make me smile!**

**Translations:**

_**mia ragazza dolce – my sweet girl**_

_**Nonna – grandmother**_

_**cara mia – my dear**_

**Giacomo is the Italian version of Jacob**

**Eraldo is the Italian version of Harry**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here I am back with the second chapter.**

**Thank you to all of those who reviewed! You made me happy!**

**Thank you so much to my beautiful beta, ****dellaterra.**** I'm so grateful for all the fantastic work you put into my little story. You've spoilt me for life; I never want to write without your support again.**

**Big thanks to DarkBlueBella for pre-reading.**

**Any remaining errors are mine.**

**I do not own Twilight.**

**oOoOoOo**

**PAS DE DEUX**

**Chapter 2**

I'm nervously toying with a string of loose wool on my legwarmer, trying not to look at Edward all the time. After everyone finished their dances, we had a short break, and now it's time for Mr. Whitlock to announce the pairings for the assignment.

I just hope I won't have to do this with Mike. If I have to spend a fortnight with him, rehearsing a _pas de deux_, I'll be crazy by the end of it. He's a nice chap, but he always has the most ridiculous ideas. Last semester, he suggested we should do a _polonaise _to Mr. Whitlock's office for his birthday.

"I am not going to please you by giving you the partners you always dance with." Mr. Whitlock chuckles. "Yes, Miss Hale and Mr. McCarty, I mean _you!"_

Everybody laughs and I just _know_ he's going to pair Rosalie and Edward.

"Okay, everyone. So here we go. Remember, by the end of next week I will be back to make a decision. My wife will be here as well, if that adds to your motivation!" He smiles. "I'm going to announce the pairings, and the themes I want you to work on. Thirst: Miss Mallory and Mr. Ateara." The two of them smile because they are friends.

_Please don't let me end up with Mike. Please don't let me end up with Mike._

"Blood: Miss Stanley and Mr. Crowley."

Neither of them looks happy.

I suppose it's just a question of time until I hear him say: "Miss Hale and Mr. Masen."

He continues announcing the couples and their themes. Victoria and James get the subject of "Death," and Emmett ends up with Heidi having to dance about "Night." Mike, to my great surprise gets to dance with Rosalie, and I just know she'll be bossing him around no end.

I'm still waiting for my name to come up. And I realise that almost everybody has been called. I look around me.

Even Angela has been given a partner; she'll dance with Riley to the theme of "Bite."

Who but me has not been called?

It's just me… and the new boy.

"At last, we have Passion. I would like to see Miss Cigno and Mr. Masen work on that."

I gasp. My eyes meet Edward's across the room, and my heart is beating rapidly.

"I want you to do this whole thing on your own," Mr. Whitlock continues. "You get to choose the music, you will make up the choreography and you decide on your costumes. The only criterion, aside from the theme, is the time: I want each piece to have a minimum of seven minutes, but no longer than twelve. Each team has four hours of rehearsal time per day. Mrs. Cope is going to give you your schedules after this.

"You are, of course, welcome to work on your piece beyond that time frame, but please don't neglect your other classes. Are there any questions?"

A few students raise their hands, but I am far too dumbstruck to think clearly. After Mr. Whitlock leaves, Mrs. Cope hands out rehearsal schedules and everyone chatters excitedly.

I sit with my back to the mirror. I try to find Edward, but he must have left. Which is strange. Doesn't he want to discuss the details with me? Our first session will be tomorrow morning at ten, in room 17 F, in the new wing of the building.

I sit alone at lunch, since Angela's not there. I have a yoghurt and salad and I try to concentrate on my book, but with all those thoughts running through my head, it's hard.

I hope I'll be able to come up with something on _passion_. Not that I have a lot of experience with that. Physical passion that is.

Last year, I went on a few dates with Marcus from Modern Dance, and there was this one time we went to see a film and kissed afterwards, but it was awkward, and I wasn't really into him.

"Excuse me." A soft voice pulls me out of my reverie. When I look up, it's into gentle green eyes framed by long lashes. "Do you mind if I sit here?" His American accent is charming, and his smile is slightly crooked.

"Um… sure… I mean, no. I mean… _Of course_. Please sit…" I feel my cheeks getting warm.

"Thanks." He sits across from me and puts down his lunch tray.

"I'm Edward." He reaches out his hand and I take it. His fingers close around mine, and the touch of his skin feels warm and soft.

"I'm Bella."

"Hi, Bella." He inclines his head to one side.

He's so pretty. He looks like someone in a Botticelli painting. Or on a GQ cover. The structure of his face is perfect… High cheekbones and a long, fine nose. Plump, pink lips. Vibrant green eyes. Rather thick eyebrows.

"Is that Italian?"

"Pardon me?"

"Your name. Is it Italian?"

He takes a bite of his sandwich.

"Yes. It's Isabella, actually."

"Oh. Do you prefer that?"

"No. No, I prefer Bella. Yes, um, my parents are Italian." I toy with a piece of lettuce.

"So… it's the two of us, huh?"

"Yes…" I nod. I wish I were more self-confident… or experienced.

"I guess you'd rather have done this with someone you already know, right?"

"I don't mind."

"Okay…" Edward chugs down some milk.

"You're from Chicago?"

"Uh-huh. But I was offered a scholarship, and I happily accepted because my aunt and uncle live here."

"I see."

Actually, I _can't _really see why he would move to another continent to be with his aunt and uncle, especially since the Chicago School of Ballet is very renowned, but I don't want to intrude, so I don't ask.

"They're the only family I have," Edward says after a moment. "Yeah… My mom died last year, you know…" He swallows.

"I'm so sorry, Edward." I guess my face shows the shock I feel. How horrible for him. I'd be devastated if anything ever happened to my parents.

"Thanks," he says softly. He runs a hand through his hair. "So. Passion, huh?" He smiles and his eyes twinkle. "Any idea how to approach that?"

"We could list the pieces of music we think of…" I suggest.

"Sounds good."

Edward finishes his lunch.

"Okay, I need to get going, 'cause there are tons of things I still have to organise. See you tomorrow morning?"

"Yes. See you."

I watch him as he leaves, tossing the red apple he took from the buffet in the air and catching it as he walks.

**=oOo=**

When I arrive the next morning, Edward is already in our assigned studio, doing _grands battements_. He's in black tights and a faded green t-shirt. His back is to me and I watch him for a few seconds before making my presence known. His physique is exquisite. He must be over six feet tall, and his shoulders are quite broad. I notice the way his bum looks, and I can't help but stare for a moment.

He turns right then, in a fluid and poised movement. A smile lights his face when he sees me.

"Hi, Bella."

"Hey." I put down my bag and water bottle. "How long've you been here?"

"Uh, an hour or so." He finishes his move and I watch his arms as they end in the first position. Strong arms, with bronze hair on them. His fingers are very long.

He fetches the towel that's hanging over the _barre _and dries the sweat off his face.

"Made your list?" He smiles, and it's completely enchanting.

"I did. Did you?"

"Sure thing."

By the time we've gone through all the pieces of music we've come up with, an hour has passed. We're sitting on the floor in the middle of the studio, with dozens of notes strewn around us as we discuss our preferences.

Edward is extremely well educated, and I'm impressed with the wide range of knowledge he has.

"I guess Schubert would work," he says, his brow furrowed in concentration as he chews the end of his pencil. "I mean, vampires is the theme, so it's gotta be dark, right? But it needs to be passionate as well. How about Brahms?"

"And if we take something modern after all?" I suggest.

"You want to dance to Lady Gaga?" Edward chuckles, and he starts moving to a nonexistent tune, and it's very erratic and very funny, and I have to laugh. "Okay, Miss Cigno. We need to make a decision here, 'cause without music, there's nothing we can work on."

"I have an idea. Let's sleep on it, and today let's just dance. We need to get to know each other anyway."

"Yeah…" He nods slowly. "Do you want to improvise or…"

"I know the _Agon_ _pas de deux_ quite well," I say. "And the one from _Giselle_, when she and Albrecht meet."

"I know that one." He smiles, and it does something to my heart. "I danced it last fall."

"That's great!" I'm already collecting the papers from the floor while Edward tends to the sound system.

Dancing with Edward is magic.

We start off slowly and timidly, stopping and laughing all the time when one of us gets a step wrong, trying things out, changing bits and pieces. But surprisingly, none of it feels awkward, like I expected it to. Dancing with Edward, being very close to him, touching him and being touched by him, feels natural.

Ballet is a very physical business. You sweat, you touch each other constantly and in ways you normally never would with people you don't know intimately. So there's always this obstacle to overcome when you're thrown in with someone, and the first few minutes, or hours, are bound to be odd. I always find them excruciating.

With Edward, I don't feel inhibited.

I've been dancing with male partners for years now, but I have never encountered this sensation of being completely in tune. It is as though we'd been dancing together forever. Edward anticipates my moves, and our bodies are in utter harmony. Our movements are fluent, a silent current connecting us.

His technique is astonishing, but in addition, he has this incredible intuition and insight. It doesn't feel like work; everything comes naturally.

We don't do overtly difficult stuff, and at some point, we're just improvising and fooling around. Just when we're having a little contest on who is able to do more_ entrechats_, where you cross your feet in the air before landing in the same position you began from, there's a knock on the door.

"Come in," Edward calls. He's as sweaty as I am as he grabs his water bottle and starts drinking in large gulps, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"We've been waiting outside for ten minutes," Victoria complains. "Can _we _have the room now?"

Edward and I apologise and leave the room once we've fetched our things. We giggle when we're in the hallway.

"Wow, she was pissed!" Edward throws his bag over his shoulder. "She always like this?"

I nod. His hair is sweaty and messier than ever before. I swallow.

"Okay," he says. "This was… great. So we'll sleep on it and decide on the music tomorrow, right?"

"I hope so!" I smile.

"Maybe…" He hesitates.

"Yes?"

"I was just thinking that maybe we should exchange our cell phone numbers so we can keep up… You know…"

My heart stammers a little in my chest as he puts in the number I dictate and then calls me._ Edward_, I programme into my mobile, and it makes me strangely proud.

That night, I'm sitting on my bed, browsing through my iPod in order to find a piece of music that feels right for my _pas de deux_ with Edward. A knock on the door startles me. "Come in," I call, and Mum peeks in.

"Hey." She smiles and sits down next to me on the bed. She's been working long hours since Sunday and it's the first time we get the chance to catch up. She toys with one of my pink toe shoes. I know she feels bad when she and Daddy can't be with us for dinner, although of course, Nonna is always there, cooking and asking us about our respective days.

"How's school so far?"

"Good." I tell her a little about our assignment.

"And who will you be dancing with?"

"This new bloke. Edward. He's from Chicago."

"Is he nice?"

"Yes. Very." To my dismay, I'm blushing a little.

While Daddy would like me to stay his little girl forever, Mum is constantly encouraging me to go out more. I know that I'm probably a rarity. I'm eighteen and I've never had a boyfriend. I live very much in my own world, I suppose. The fact is, I've just never met anyone I'd feel comfortable being close to in that way.

Mum passes a hand over my cheekbone.

"You're so single-minded, _Bellissima."_

"Is that a bad thing?" I frown. Why do I sometimes feel like I have to defend myself for loving so much what I do?

"No," she replies. "No. It's an intense thing. Just, you know… don't forget to _live_ in between, baby girl." She kisses my temple. "I'm going to go next door, to see if Daddy needs any help. I love you."

"Love you too, Mum."

She shuts the door behind her and I lie back on the bed, putting the plugs back in my ears, listening to a Haydn string quartet. I close my eyes.

Dancing with Edward felt so natural. So easy and light.

And we laughed so much together.

His eyes crinkle at the sides when he laughs.

**oOoOoOo**

**A/N: Thank you for reading.**

_**Agon **_**is a ballet by George Balanchine and Igor Stravinsky.**

_**Giselle**_** is a ballet by Adolphe Adame and Theophile Gautier.**

**Translation:**

_**bellisimo/bellissima –**__** beautiful.**_

**Show me the love and leave a review! Next update on Saturday.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Welcome to chapter 3!**

**Thank you a thousand times to my marvellous beta, ****dellaterra,**** without whom this story would be a sad and messy affair. (Which actually sounds like a raunchy title.) Seriously: thank you so much; you are brilliant. I can never thank you enough.**

**Thank you also to the wonderful**** DarkBlueBella**** for pre-reading.**

**Thank you for all the reviews, alerts and favourites – they make writing this worthwhile!**

**I do not own Twilight.**

**oOoOoOo**

**PAS DE DEUX **

**Chapter 3**

I've been nervous all day.

My next session with Edward is after lunch, and it's hard to think of anything else. I'm still trying to go through the notes from my history lesson when a shadow falls over my notebook, causing me to look up.

It's Edward, dressed in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants.

"Hey, Bella." He gestures to the empty seat across from me. "D'you mind?"

"No, of course not."

He sits and tucks into his lunch, which consists of a Greek salad, a sandwich, and a glass of milk.

"Found something good?" He looks at my notes.

"I made a list. But it's really hard. Did you dig up anything worthwhile?"

"Actually, I think I might have. There's this little-known piece by François Paquert. It's passionate, and the tempos would suit us nicely, I think."

He ferrets through his gym bag and hands me his earplugs, looking for the piece on his iPod. Once he presses play, I am overwhelmed by the most beautiful melody. It's powerful and warm, and then turns dark and urgent. It's perfect.

"This is…" I'm at a loss for words, especially when I realise that Edward is watching me from those deep, green eyes.

"Good, right? It's a little over eight minutes, all in all, which I think is ideal. You like it?"

"Absolutely."

"Great." He grins. "Then all we have to do is come up with a dance." He smiles his quirky, lopsided smile again.

We leave the cafeteria together, passing Rosalie Hale and Emmett McCarty. If looks could kill, we'd both be dead.

We start with a slow warmup, chatting about this and that while we stretch and exercise our muscles. Edward tells me about his first four weeks in London, how he's already falling in love with the city, and how much he likes the Kensington area, where he lives with his aunt and uncle. His uncle, Carlisle, is head of surgery at the Royal Brompton Hospital, and Esme, his aunt, works as an interior designer She is his mum's sister, and they were very close.

We talk about ballets and dancers we like, and Edward wants to know if I speak Italian.

"_Un po_," I reply. "We spend our summers with the family."

"Where?"

"A tiny place, Ricarvo. It's next to a village called Vicchio Mugello. It's quite close to Florence."

"That's cool," he says. "Maybe you could teach me some Italian." He smiles, and his fingers touch my foot that's lying on the _barre_ while I arch my back.

"Shall we start?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I was thinking we might begin with a little solo by you and I'd join you after about eighty seconds. You know, when -"

"When the motif begins?"

"Exactly!" His eyes sparkle as he explains his ideas. We spend the following hours trying things out, discarding much of it, dancing and repeating motions, writing down the parts we feel sure about. Edward has a brilliant mind, but he's also open to trying anything I suggest.

We're through the passage we've been rehearsing, and Edward's hands are immediately around my waist when I finish a succession of pirouettes.

"I'm gonna lift you now, 'kay?"

And he does, lifting me easily above his head.

"Don't worry, I got you."

Only now do I realise that I've been holding onto his shoulders.

"Sorry," I murmur, and slowly let go.

"It's okay." He sets me down gently.

"It's just… we haven't been dancing together for very long and… I didn't think you'd drop me or anything…"

Edward smiles and dries some sweat off his face with the hem of his t-shirt. His stomach is defined, and there's a line of bronze hair that disappears into his sweatpants.

It's nothing I haven't seen before.

Still, I need to swallow.

"Wow," he says, glancing at the clock on the wall. "We've only got five more minutes."

I never noticed how the time flew by.

"Let's get out," he chuckles, "before Victoria gives us the stink eye again."

I laugh. "No, we don't want to risk that."

We say goodbye in front of the locker rooms, and while I'm in the shower, I recall every little detail of the past hours. Edward has large hands. I feel special when he holds me. There's a strange elegance to everything he does.

I'm silent over dinner, and Nonna makes me drink a bowl of chicken soup, convinced that I'm coming down with a cold.

Once again, sleep won't come.

The rest of the week passes quickly with lots of work. In addition to rehearsing our piece, we also have to attend our regular classes: modern dance, solo, makeup, repertoire, history and so on.

My sessions with Edward are the highlight of my day, and when our rehearsal time approaches, my stomach begins to flutter. We've become better acquainted over the last week, and we share a lot of views and opinions. Above all, Edward makes me laugh so much.

Our dance is progressing nicely. We have lunch together every day, and I'm getting very good at ignoring the glares of Rosalie Hale. I guess she's just not used to not having things go her way.

On Friday, we get to rehearse from four to eight, and since she is gone for the weekend, Mrs. Cope asked us to deposit the keys to the studio in the little mailbox outside her office.

We have established the first six minutes of our _pas de deux_, and the plan is to have it ready by Tuesday so we can polish and improve it on Wednesday and Thursday. We need to hand in our music on Thursday morning so the sound technician will have it ready for the performance on Friday.

I haven't seen Edward since lunchtime. When I walk into the studio, there he is, and my heart does this silly flip-flopping thing again.

We go through the moves, changing little bits, and then do the piece several times. For the next couple of hours, we work on the details that have to be improved, and when we're through, both of us are satisfied.

I'm having a sip of water while Edward fiddles around with the sound system. After a moment, a sensual, languid melody floods the room, and Edward, who has stepped into the middle of the studio, smiles at me, reaching out one hand for me to join him.

"Come," he says. "Let's dance."

We dance until we're both covered in a fine sheen of sweat. It's exciting. It's liberating. We move in unison, our bodies merging as if they were one. I can feel his bones and muscles, his wild hair as it tickles my forehead. I can feel his warm hands, and I can feel his heartbeat. I can smell him, and his scent does something to my insides. It's like soap and honey and man.

The way Edward dances with me… I don't know… I feel cherished. When he lifts me, I feel as if I could reach the stars.

I don't know how much time has passed when the music stops. We're in the middle of the room, looking at ourselves in the large mirror, our bodies so close that there isn't an inch between us. Edward's hands are on my hips, my back against his chest. My leg is curled around his backside in a high _arabesque._ For a moment, the room is silent but for our laboured breathing. Then we part, and it feels a bit awkward.

We both drink some water, and Edward sits down on the floor. He takes off his ballet shoes and massages his feet, sighing softly.

"Now _you're_ complaining!" I join him on the floor. "Try doing that in toe shoes!"

Edward chuckles. "I'm glad I don't have to!" He catches sight of the clock and frowns. "Oh shit, Bella. I'm sorry. It's already nine-thirty. I hope I didn't keep you from anything."

"No," I assure him.

"But it's Friday night. Aren't you going out, and stuff? Everyone tells me the club 'scene' is fabulous here." He uses little air quotes when he says it.

"It's not my kind of thing, I'm afraid." I disentangle the ribbons of my shoes.

"So what do you do on weekends? Hang out with your boyfriend?"

"No," I say, concentrating on my shoes. "I don't have a boyfriend." I know that I'm blushing.

"Oh," Edward says, and he sounds surprised. I know he thinks that I'm the uncoolest person he's ever met.

"And… um… do you have any plans for tomorrow?" He swallows, and for a fraction of a second I wonder if he's nervous, but that's nonsense of course.

"Nothing, really…" I admit.

"Then would you… maybe… like to show me around a bit?"

Huge green eyes, and full lips. He runs a hand through his hair.

"And we could start thinking about costumes," he adds quickly.

"Oh, well… Yes… Sure."

My heart breaks out into a mad race.

"Good." Edward beams at me. "Three p.m.?"

When I leave the tube at Edgware Road Station, I'm still giddy with excitement. The walk home doesn't take long, and it's nice to clear my head a bit as I pass by the streets and buildings I have known all my life.

The restaurant is filled to capacity when I walk in. It's a lovely place, homey and comfortable, with lots of nooks and corners and little lights.

"Bella!" Gianna, one of the waitresses, greets me with two kisses. "Haven't seen you all week! How are you?"

"I'm fine," I say. "I was just going to say hi to Daddy. Is he in his office?"

I make my way through the restaurant, greeting some of the regular patrons as I pass by the fireplace, where a nice fire is crackling.

Daddy is behind his desk, doing paperwork. He helps out with the customers when needed, but the moment he can, he sits down to write up orders and sort bills. _Il Cigno_ is his life, and I know he's hoping that Giacomo will take over one day.

"_Bellissima_," he smiles. "You're late. I was worried!"

"I'm sorry. I didn't notice the time. We were rehearsing." I kiss his cheek.

"You're very much into it," Daddy remarks. "All week, whenever I saw you, you've been positively sparkling!" He pats my arm. "Good to see you happy."

Once again, I fall into an uneasy slumber that night. My dreams are filled with lifts and pirouettes and green eyes.

**=oOo=**

My stomach is fluttering like mad when I exit the bus the next afternoon. It's a beautiful day, the autumn sun dipping everything into golden warmth, and it seems as if the weather mirrors the way I feel. Sunny. Warm. Fuzzy.

As I approach our meeting point, I see Edward before he sees me. He's leaning against the railing by the pond. I had laughed when he suggested meeting in Hyde Park, but he only gave me that crooked smirk. He had a point though. It's midway between our homes.

He's wearing black jeans and old sneakers, a grey t-shirt, and a soft tan leather jacket. His hair is a delicious mess. His legs are so long…

He turns and sees me, and a beautiful smile comes to his face.

"Bella!"

He comes toward me, and for an awkward moment, we're both unsure of how to greet each other. Edward takes the initiative and puts a soft kiss on my cheek, causing my heart to stutter.

It's the best afternoon I've ever had.

We walk, we talk, we joke, and I don't think I've ever felt this relaxed, and at the same time exhilarated, before. Edward makes me laugh all the time, but he also lets me have a few small glimpses of who he is. He tells me that he never knew his father, but that he was named after him. I'm curious, but I don't want to intrude, so I don't question him further.

I ask him how he became a dancer.

"Mom used to be a dancer," he says, and a wistful expression comes to his face. "She started working as a teacher after I was born, and she often took me with her. I'd sit in a corner and watch, and by the time I could walk, I had started dancing. At least that's what she told me."

We're sitting by the pond, and the sun is just setting, glittering on the water, colouring it orange and dark blue and silver.

Edward has bought some fish and chips for both of us, and he's practically inhaling them.

"I could bathe in that stuff," he sighs. He looks at me. I've only eaten two fries. "Don't you like them?"

"Yes… No… I mean…" I sigh. "I really shouldn't be eating that."

Edward rolls his eyes. "Neither should I, but come on! You're not going to gain weight by having a couple of fries. You're tiny!"

I longingly eye the fattening food.

"What do you weigh, Bella? Ninety-five pounds?"

"Ninety."

He pushes the delicacies in my direction.

"You're the one who will have to lift me on Monday," I warn.

"I'll cope with that." Edward takes a fry and holds it in front of my mouth. "Come on, Bella. Live a little!"

I open my mouth for the piece of fat-drenched, over-salted potato and Edward grins while I chew.

"Oh my God," I sigh. "That's disgustingly yummy!"

Edward chuckles. "That's what I'm sayin'!"

We goof around a little longer, and it's just easy, and friendly, and… _right._

So far I've learnt a few things about Edward: He's twenty-one. He's incredibly talented. And he makes me feel like I've never felt before.

I want to ask him much, much more about himself. Is there a girl back in Chicago? He's never mentioned anyone; on the contrary, he told me he's planning to stay here.

He's never spoken about how his mum died, or how he copes with it. Sometimes he looks sad and far away.

By the time we leave one of the south entrances of the park, it's getting dark, and Edward insists on taking me home, ignoring my protests. We ride at the top of the bus, looking out into the London night.

I wonder if he'll be going out later tonight. At school, he's become quite the star since his arrival a week ago, especially with the likes of Rosalie Hale and Victoria Huntington fawning over him every chance they get.

He looks incredibly beautiful in the dim light of the bus, his sharp profile contrasted against the bright lights from lampposts and shop windows outside. I point out some landmarks to him. The Royal Albert Hall, Wellington's Monument, Marble Arch.

Edward smiles and can't stop asking me things, pointing out into the dark while my mind works overtime. Most of the things he notices, I've never even thought about.

Why exactly _do_ we drive on the "wrong" side of the road? How often does the pigeon poop get removed from Lord Nelson? Do regular pigeons even fly that high to do their business? Why do we drink tea? Like lukewarm, stale tea with milk and sugar?

I'm listening, but then I'm not. I watch Edward. He's beautiful. His face betrays a certain childlike innocence despite everything he's been through. He gesticulates a lot, with elegant, honest gestures, and I notice the way a bit of chest hair peeks out at the top of his t-shirt.

Trying to get a hold on myself, I look out of the window, but I'm still extremely aware of Edward sitting next to me.

Edward…

All too soon we arrive at my stop.

"You really needn't walk me home," I say. "It's just a few minutes."

"Nonsense," Edward smiles. He playfully takes my fingers. The sensation of his large, warm hand closing around my smaller one makes me dizzy. The streets are mostly quiet, but we pass a few pubs as we get closer to my home. People are standing outside, smoking and laughing, but I don't really notice anything because Edward still hasn't let go of my hand, and it tingles all the way up to my shoulder. It tingles in my stomach, too.

"Well," I say when we reach _Il Cigno_. "This is me."

Through the windows, I can see that it's another busy night.

"It looks nice," Edward says.

My hand is still in his.

"I'll see you on Monday?" he says. His eyes look dark, but there's a sparkle in them. He squeezes my hand so lightly that I wonder if I only imagined it.

"Yes. See you on Monday."

Edward smiles a wistful, crooked smile as he bends down to kiss my cheek. He lips are warm and soft.

I feel cold and lonely as I watch him walk away.

**oOoOoOo**

**A/N: Thank you for reading. Please leave a review, I'd love to hear your thoughts!**

**Francois Paquert does not exist, in case any of you were wondering.**

**Translation:**

_**un po – a little bit**_


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello lovely readers, welcome to chapter 4! After this, there's only one chapter left, which will be posted on Wednesday.**

**Thank you once again to my gorgeous beta, ****dellaterra.**** You're the very best!**

**Huge thanks to DarkBlueBella for pre-reading****.**

**Any remaining errors and mistakes are mine.**

**I do not own Twilight.**

**oOoOoOo**

**PAS DE DEUX**

**Chapter 4**

Sunday drags. I'm short-tempered and fidgety, and I manage to start an entirely useless argument with Giaco over dinner.

I'm packing my bag for the next day, putting in the dark blue leotard that Edward said suits my skin, when my mobile beeps with an incoming message.

_**Hey, Bella. I'm looking forward to our rehearsal tomorrow. Sleep well. Edward.**_

It's hard to sleep at all after that.

Over the next three days, our rehearsals get ever more intense as we put the finishing touches on our piece. There's this… I don't know… sparkle in the air between us when we dance, and I'm actually beginning to believe that we're quite good. We also rehearse a lot after school - Edward easily coaxed Mrs. Cope into giving him the keys to room 14 D.

Each day we sit on the floor once we're finished, chatting, laughing, getting to know each other better.

Edward enjoys hearing about my family, and I love to listen to the stories he tells me about Chicago. His eyes get a melancholy expression whenever he speaks of his mother. He talks about her with such love and reverence, and I can't imagine how horrible it must have been for him when he lost her.

One night, he shows me a picture of her that he carries in his wallet. She was a beautiful woman with long, auburn hair and eyes that were the same vibrant green as Edward's.

"That's my mom, Elizabeth." His voice is husky in the silence of the room. I feel honoured that he is sharing it with me.

"She was lovely," I say.

"Yes, she was. Even in the end, when cancer had taken her down. The only thing I'm glad about is the fact that she didn't have to suffer very long. It was a very aggressive type of bowel cancer. It was too late to be treated by the time she was diagnosed."

I watch him as he speaks, softly, humbly. Unconsciously, I take his hand.

He looks up, a sad smile on his lips.

"I'm glad we met, Bella."

"I'm glad too," I murmur.

When I get home that night, it's after eleven and I'm surprised to find Daddy in the kitchen_. _He glares at me when I say hello.

"You might at least have called," he complains gruffly.

I quickly kiss his cheek.

"Sorry, Daddy. Time just ran away."

"Time runs away a lot since you started dancing with that bloke."

"Leave her alone, Carlo," Mum chuckles from behind us. "You need to accept that your daughter is growing up."

"But I don't have to like it, do I?" He ruffles my hair.

"Well," I say, suppressing a yawn. "I'm knackered. Night-night."

**=oOo=**

The next day, Thursday, is the day of our last rehearsal before the presentation on Friday.

Edward and I meet in the afternoon, both of us wearing our outfits for the performance. We decided to wear black, keeping it simple and hopefully letting our dancing convey the theme without the distraction of glitzy costumes. As usual, Edward is already there, doing _fouettés_. Entranced, I watch him for a few moments until he finishes, ending in a perfect fifth position.

"Hey," he grins. He's in black sweats and a black tank top, displaying his muscular arms and a bit of chest hair.

"Hey." I drop my bag as Edward crosses the room. He greets me with a soft kiss on my cheek. There's a couple of days' worth of stubble on his chin, and it tickles me for a second. As always, his proximity does something to me. I've grown accustomed to his scent, clean and spicy, reminding me of honey.

We chat for a few minutes, and then Edward turns on the music and we start to dance.

It begins slowly with a short solo by me that is rather unspectacular. A few slow pirouettes and _pas de __bourrées_ as I move across the space, which, tomorrow, will be a stage. It's light and easy, as is the music, but it's also wistful, as if I was searching for something, for someone. Longing.

Edward joins me and we take notice of each other, careful steps and movements expressing our desire to meet. Our movements begin to mirror each other as the music becomes ever more filled with longing and need. When it reaches its climax, we're finally joined and start our _pas de deux_.

The music is beautiful and harmonious and we slide over the parquet easily, until the melody gets more urgent and dramatic, as do our movements. There are a few tricky lifts and leaps for both of us, but we manage okay.

Finally, the music slows and becomes gentle, and we finish in a position that tells of a happy ending, with Edward holding me close to his body, hovering above me while his arms support my body. Our faces are inches apart and we're both panting. The music stops, but we don't leave the position, looking at one another, Edward's green eyes staring into mine. It's as if we are connected on some strange, otherworldly level, like it's meant to be.

It feels unreal, but at the same time I'm totally aware of everything: the feeling of Edward's arms around me, his scent, the warmth that radiates off his body.

His lips are so close, so plump and pink. I can see, and feel, him swallow.

"Bella," he murmurs thickly.

And then his lips are on mine, and they are soft and warm and sweet, and my heart is trying to fly out of my chest. His mouth moves with mine and I am dizzy in the warmth of his arms. My hands move to his hair of their own volition. It's silky, slightly damp, and soft. His scruff scratches my skin, and it feels great.

Slowly he moves us into a standing position. Our lips never part and I twine my arms around his neck as his find their way around my waist and he pulls me even closer.

My heart is pounding madly; I'm sure he must be able to feel it.

Edward's lips softly tug at my bottom lip, and then I can feel the tip of his tongue, warm and tender, caress me. Sighing, I allow myself to drift away on a wave of bliss and when his tongue slides against mine, it's soft and sweet and like nothing I've ever felt before.

My hand cups his cheek while the other one entangles in his hair, and when my fingers softly caress his scalp, Edward moans slightly and that… Oh that does things to my insides and I'm all fluttery… I must have died and gone to heaven.

His warmth, his strength envelop me, and I'm floating on a high that's caused by his taste and his smell, and the feel of him…

And then, it ends.

Edward slowly pulls back, and I feel him swallow as I open my eyes. His eyes are glossed over as he stares at me with an expression of – what? Regret? Shock?

"What?" I whisper. "What is it Edward?"

"I'm sorry, Bella," he mumbles and breaks away.

He swiftly crosses the room to fetch his bag, and before my confused mind is able to grasp what's happening, he's gone, leaving me standing in the middle of the room with a pounding heart.

**oOoOoOo**

**A/N: Thank you for reading. Please make me smile and leave a review!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Okay guys, ****here's the final chapter. **

**Thank you to my wonderful beta, ****dellaterra**** – I can't ever praise you enough for the patience and inspiration, your humour and brilliance! **

**Thank you to DarkBlueBella for pre-reading.**

**Man, am I grateful that I found the two of you!**

**Remaining errors and mistakes are all mine.**

**Thank you to everyone who took the time to read, alert, fav, and REVIEW!**

**oOoOoOo**

**PAS DE DEUX**

**Chapter 5**

Mum immediately notices that something's wrong when I get home. My eyes are red and swollen, and I'm sure I look just as awful as I feel. She tries to comfort me, but I don't want to talk.

I take a long, hot shower and let my hot tears mingle with the spray of water.

_What was that?_

I was aware that there was something between us, at least from my side, and the idea that he might feel the same way made me delirious as the kiss began. Edward woke sensations I never knew existed. It was so sweet, so tender, but also passionate and… _hot._

And then? Nothing.

Did I do something wrong? Was he repulsed by something I did?

I'm sure he has lots more experience than I. Maybe he realised that I'm just not in his league?

Or maybe he thinks I'm too skinny, and my breasts are too small. Because they are really small.

By the time the water runs cold, I'm still crying, wrapping myself into my fluffy pink Hello Kitty bathrobe and hurrying to my room.

I check my mobile – maybe he sent a message, as he often does in the evenings – but nope. Nothing.

I cry myself to sleep, which is uneasy and dreamless.

Ironically, the sun is shining brightly when I wake, and a look into the mirror confirms my suspicions. I look ghastly, my eyes red-rimmed and swollen, my skin blotchy and even paler than usual.

Great. And this is the day of our presentation.

For a second, I consider calling in sick, but I know I'd never forgive myself for that.

Maybe I should send Edward a message before school to clear things up? No, he doesn't deserve one.

I have breakfast with Mum, Nonna and Giaco, and by the time I'm in the tube, my annoyance has turned into a full-blown rage. I want to scream at Edward. How dare he. Maybe this is the way they do things in Chicago, but here, we're different!

In the locker room, the girls are chattering excitedly. Some have chosen rather lavish outfits, with glitter and wings and eccentric hairdos. Others are keeping it as simple as we – Edward and I.

Even thinking of him hurts.

Rosalie Hale, of course, pulls off the most spectacular costume. She and Mike are dancing to the theme of blood, and she's dressed in a red leotard and tutu and red toe shoes. I'm looking forward to seeing Mike in a black coat and fangs.

There's no trace of Edward in the studio where everyone is doing their warmups. Miss Denali joins us, commenting as usual on our postures or positions.

By the time we need to go to the auditorium, Edward still hasn't arrived, and I'm beginning to fear that he's going to stand me up. Everyone is assembling on the stage, and after a few minutes, Mr. Whitlock joins us, accompanied by his beautiful, petite wife, Mary Alice Brandon, who gives us a lovely, encouraging smile.

He speaks a few introductory words, reminding us all to strive for excellence, and that it will be a great honour for the couple that gets chosen to dance before the Queen.

I'm getting really jittery when he says that he is going to announce the order in which the pairings are to perform.

"Okay, lovelies, here goes," he says calmly. "First: Isabella Cigno and Edward Masen."

I'm just about to raise my hand to inform him of my partner's absence, when a large, warm hand touches my arm.

"Sorry," Edward whispers.

_Sorry? That's it? _

After all the sadness and tears, anger now rears its head again.

I don't reply, and Mr. Whitlock keeps reading names until he, his wife and Miss Denali leave the stage to take their seats, as do the other students.

Edward and I walk into the wings, and while we wait for the lights to dim and the music to start, Edward's hand finds my shoulder.

"Bella," he whispers. "I'm so sorry… I…"

"Not now," I snap, and just then, the music begins.

Slowly, I dance my way unto the stage, knowing full well that with everything between us right now, we're going to be terrible and won't stand a chance of being chosen for the Royal Performance.

That is, until Edward joins me on the stage.

His presence is breathtaking, and it's also invigorating. He totally has me under his spell. The air between us is thick with tension, unspoken words and… _passion_.

By the time our bodies touch, I'm on fire, and we move as if we were one.

It's sheer magic. It's perfection.

I don't need an audience to tell me that we were good, but when we finish in our final position, there's frenetic applause, and once more, Edward's lips are so, so close to mine.

The lights fade and I storm off the stage, overwhelmed by my inner turmoil.

I know I should be go back to the auditorium to watch my fellow students perform, but I need to get out! I run to the locker room, struggling out of my shoes and into my chucks, slipping on a hoodie and grabbing my bag. Just ten minutes of fresh air.

When I open the door, Edward is waiting on the corridor, leaning against the wall.

"Bella," he says imploringly.

I brush past him, but he follows me.

"Bella, please let me explain!"

By the time I've reached the doors, he's caught up with me. He grabs my arm, but I fight him off, escaping into the sunny autumn day.

"Bella!" He sounds desperate.

My heart is beating erratically, and I finally turn around to face him.

"What do you want?"

"Please," he says miserably. "Just… five minutes. Give me five minutes so I can… explain." He runs a hand through his unruly mop of bronze. "Please."

"Five minutes," I say.

**=oOo=**

We sit down on the small stairway leading up to the entrance of the school on Floral Street, and the sun bathes us in its warmth.

"I'm so sorry for running away last night." Edward's brows knit together. "I was just so… overwhelmed." He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he searches for words. "I've never met anyone like you, Bella. You're so… lively, and gentle… and beautiful…" The last, he says very softly.

"Pshh."

A little smile comes to his face.

"And you don't see yourself clearly at all."

"What does that mean?"

"You're humble, and… just so sweet." His voice breaks a little over the last part, causing me to look up to him.

"I think of you all the time," he confesses.

"I think of you, too," I whisper, but then the hurt and anger bubble up again. "Then why did you behave like that last night?"

Edward is silent for a while. He takes my hand into both of his and it feels so good that my insides turn into hot chocolate… or something.

"I panicked," he says, staring down at our hands.

"Panicked?" I don't understand.

"I had a girlfriend, back in Chicago. Her sister Leah was in my dance class, that's how we met. I was very much in love with her. We were together for two years. And then she left me."

He's silent again, and I can see that he's trying to tell this correctly.

My thumb strokes the back of his hand.

"Emily – my girlfriend – had fallen in love with this guy, Sam. 'It was meant to be' and blah, blah, blah, so she left me. That was a month before Mom was diagnosed. She died eight weeks later."

"Oh my God… Edward…"

I reach out my hand and pass it through his hair, along his temple, over his clean-shaven cheek. Edward leans into my touch, closing his eyes as if he's enjoying it. We're silent for a long time, his hands holding one of mine, while the other caresses his hair.

"I thought about it all night," he says, startling me out of my thoughts. "I didn't sleep. At all. I was too scared you'd hate me. I tried to analyze what happened, what's going on with me, you know. I think it's just that… every time I love someone, they leave me…"

He looks up for a second, his green eyes warm and intense. He has maturity beyond his years, and I guess it can be partly explained by the things that have happened to him.

"No," I whisper, my hand stilling, cupping his cheek.

"No?"

"I wouldn't leave you, Edward…"

Edward turns his face so he can kiss the palm of my hand.

"Bella… I'm just… so glad that we met…"

"So am I."

With that, Edward pulls me close and kisses me, and it's every bit as wonderful as it was last night. Only more so.

I relax into the warmth of his arms while his lips play with mine, and a small sigh escapes my throat.

Edward's mouth moves against mine, his lips and tongue doing all sorts of exciting things, and I think I sigh again, because his arms are pulling me closer, and the feel, the taste and smell of him are driving me crazy. My whole being throbs toward him.

"Bella," he whispers. "Do you… Do you want to…"

He swallows, and puts another kiss on my lips.

"Do you want to be… my girlfriend?"

Our hearts beat in unison, and our breaths share the same rhythm.

I'm overwhelmed, so I think I just make an "ummm" sound against Edward's lips.

We sit on those steps for a long time. Kissing. Talking.

Drowning in each other for I don't know how long.

"Bella," he whispers against my lips.

"Mmm?" I nuzzle his nose with mine, and I can feel him smile.

"I think we should get back inside…"

We creep into the darkened auditorium, making it just in time to watch the grand finale of Rosalie and Mike's _pas de deux._ She dramatically drops down by his feet, and he falls to his knees and bites her neck.

The applause that follows is polite, and I can tell that Angela, who is sitting in front of us with Ben, is suppressing a giggle. I feel bad for having missed her performance, but I know she'll forgive me once I tell her the reason.

There's a bit of shuffling as Mr. Whitlock gets up and makes his way to the stage.

Edward's hand finds mine in the dark, causing my heart and stomach to flutter.

His breath is warm on my skin as he leans in to me.

"Bella?"

"Yes?" I whisper back.

Mr. Whitlock is talking about how great and different we all were, praising the mass of ideas and inspiration.

"Still," he goes on, "we needed to decide on one couple to perform the _pas de deux_ from my new ballet, and we've unanimously chosen..."

Edward kisses my neck just below my ear, making me shudder.

"… Isabella Cigno and Edward Masen!"

There's applause, and I know I have a huge grin on my face, but it's not because of what Mr. Whitlock said.

It's Edward's voice, low and tender.

"I want to dance with you forever, Bella."

**oOoOoOo**

**A/N: Thank you for reading, and please leave a review if you liked Balletward and Bellarina. Each and every one means so much to me!**

**Thank you, dellaterra. You made this story a new, and wonderful, experience for me. Thank you, thank you, thank you - and I hope I'll get to say those words many more times…**

**xoxo**

**hp**


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